Soph drummed her fingers on the bar and avoided looking at the clock on her phone. For once, she'd been on time. Of course, that made her vampire late. She relinquished, clicking the button on her phone to light the screen up. He was fifteen minutes late, to be exact.

She sighed and let her legs swing against the bar stool. Beneath her, her handbag had been dumped unceremoniously on the floor. She had, however, charged her crystals and found a sheath for her athame.

"An apple martini," she requested as the bartender slid her way again. She wouldn't be able to sit here for free much longer.

"And a scotch. Neat," a deep voice said beside her. She almost fell off her stool in surprise, had almost convinced herself he wasn't coming. He sat down on the stool beside her, eyeing her wearily. She didn't know why he seemed afraid of her; he was the bloody vampire.

"Well," she said as the bartender slid their drinks towards them. She lifted hers in a toast. "To you, for saving me." He took up his own glass and returned the gesture.

"Why did you, by the way?" she added as he took a drink. "You know, save me?"

"It seemed like the right thing to do at the time," his voice was tight and she couldn't help but notice how his stormy eyes occasionally glanced away.

"You regret it now?" she got the feeling that he wanted to go, but she still had so many questions for him. And when was she likely to ever meet a vampire again?

"I didn't exactly anticipate that you'd come looking for me."

"Didn't want to be caught out as a good vampire, huh?"

This time he looked directly at her and his eyes, grey like steel, bore into hers. Breath catching in her throat, her fingers itched to rise to her amulet, though the token remained dormant. It seemed like an eternity, but his gaze eventually swept away to scout the bartender working nearby.

"Perhaps we should get a booth," he suggested. Without waiting for a response, he downed his drink, signalled for another, then turned away from the bar.

Soph jumped off her stool, scooped up her bag and followed him. Before she could reach the booth, however, he grasped her arm.

"First," he hissed, forcing her to walk forward, "If you want to talk about supernatural things, you should at least check to see who's listening. Second, if you want to keep talking," he shoved her into the booth then pointed at her handbag, "you need to deactivate your ward."

She stared up at him, hands clutched over the straps of her bag. Her heart raced, but she experienced a pinch of pride though she hadn't really known how the ward would work when she bound it to one of her crystals, but she now realised that it was the source of his discomfort.

In her pause he took a step backwards, an obvious indication that he'd leave if she didn't do as he demanded. She quickly weighed up her options - did she cut her losses or risk her protection to keep him here?

He took another step back, and she plunged her hand into her bag, seeking the offending crystal. It was hot to touch, and she curled her fingers around it, drawing its energy into her body. As she did so, she could see the vampire's stance relax somewhat. Had her ward really made him so uncomfortable?

She didn't draw all the energy from the crystal. She wasn't suicidal enough to leave herself completely unguarded so when she let go of the stone it still held some of the warding spell. Just enough for her to be able to run if she needed to. The vampire seemed to find this acceptable, for he finally sat across from her.

The bartender brought them fresh drinks, and the vampire spread his hands wide on either side of his glass. An offering. "Ask your questions."

Soph sat back, surprised. "Anything?"

"No, not anything. But you can give it a red hot crack."

She chewed the inside of her lip. Where to start?

"What's your name?"

"Eli Damiani."

Eli Damiani. Where had she heard that before?

"How did you know I was a witch yesterday?"

The corners of Eli's lips curled and Soph would have said he was smiling if it weren't for the dangerous glint in his eyes. "I could smell it on you."

Well, that was creepy.

"Don't you have any questions for me?" Soph asked.

"No."

That stung. "You don't even want to know my name?"

"You're Sophia Giannopoulos, a graphic designer at Paxus and you turned twenty-five years old last month." Eli sat back, amused by the astonished look that passed over her face.

"Just Soph," she corrected, then added incredulously, "did you read my mind?"

Eli snorted. "I read your employee file."

"How-" she closed her mouth. He was a vampire; he would have been in and out of her office within minutes. Perhaps he even undertook his reconnaissance mission in business hours.

He watched her, waiting. The index finger of his left hand drew circles around the rim of his glass and she got the feeling that he was ready to leave. She wanted him to stay, though she couldn't pinpoint why she was so drawn to him. She took a moment to drink him in. Sitting this close she could tell that the slate grey suit he wore was expensive. Everything from the white silk lining to the gold stud cufflinks at his wrists was tailored to his body, and she remembered acutely what it felt like to be pinned against it.

Dragging her gaze upward, she met his eye again. He was reserved, but she thought she detected a hint of curiosity in the way he watched her. His dark brown hair was combed back. Neat. Professional. But she imagined it would look just as right on him mused and falling over his brow to frame those striking eyes.

He cleared his throat and she blushed. She'd been staring too long.

"My cousin says that you're a Possessive," she tried to cover her train of thought and immediately regretted her words. His expression darkened, and he stood.

"That's enough," he said. "Thanks for the drinks." Without looking back, he started for the door.

"Wait!" she scrambled to grab her handbag and follow him. "Wait! Just tell me one thing!"

He must have heard the desperation in her voice, for he paused, his hand on the door. She skidded to a stop beside him, glancing around once to make sure no one was close enough to hear. "Just tell me," she continued in a whisper. "Have you used your magic on me?"

He let out a low huff of laughter, though he didn't look at her. "If I had used it on you, you would know."

"How? How would I know?"

He finally glanced at her, searching her eyes. His lips twitched to a small smile, as if he knew some joke she didn't. "Because," he responded slowly, "if I had, you'd be locked in my basement with my collection."

Then he was gone. Soph lurched out the door after him, but he'd vanished into the Friday night revellers on the street.

"Hey!" the bartender from Benny's jerked the door open after her. "You still have to pay!"

"Sorry," she said, her eyes still scanning the street, though she knew her efforts were futile. She finally turned and gave the bartender a guilty smile. "Do you take card?"

***

Soph hesitated at Luie's door when she heard the low hum of conversation from within. By the sounds of it, there were more people than just her cousin and her Nona and she groaned aloud before knocking on the door.

"Who's here," she demanded when Luie opened the door. Her cousin pushed Hash back with her foot and stepped aside to let Soph in.

"Maria and Marco," Luie responded. She looked both amused and apologetic. Soph rolled her eyes as she kicked off her shoes and headed down the hallway.

"Sophia!" Nona declared as Soph entered the kitchen. Nona was red-cheeked, and she raised her wineglass in greeting to her granddaughter. Soph suppressed a sigh. Nona was drunk.

"Sophia, come va?" Maria said. The woman - not as old as Nona, but still past her prime - looked as if she'd had too much to drink as well. Certainly the last time Soph had seen her, when she'd resigned from Maria's coven, Maria hadn't been so amicable.

"I'm well, thanks Maria," Soph replied politely. She kissed Nona's cheeks, then Maria's. Lastly, she found herself standing by Marco.

She'd never met Marco before - though she had heard plenty about him from Nona - but she was under no illusions as to why he'd been invited to dinner.

"Hello, Sophia," he said, sounding blessedly un-Italian as he reached out to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Just Soph is fine. It's nice to meet you too," she replied with a smile. In all her ramblings about Marco, Nona could have mentioned how good looking he was with his black curly hair and olive skin. His eyes were lighter, almost a hazel colour.

"Sit by Marco, Sophia," Nona advised with barely constrained excitement. Marco and Soph exchanged a pained look before Marco pulled Soph's chair out for her. Luie placed bowls of pasta, sauce and salad on the table and Nona and Maria began bickering in Italian.

"Sorry about my daggy work clothes," Soph told Marco. "Nona never tells us when she's bringing guests to dinner."

"She often invites men and their mothers to meet you?"

"Not so often," Soph grumbled, accepting the glass of wine that Luie handed her. She took a long sip. "But it happens more than it should."

"Ah well," Marco smiled at her, "if it's any consolation, I thought Mother was taking me to a new therapist."

"You see a therapist?" Soph asked. Perhaps Marco wasn't the keeper he looked to be. His smile turned to a grimace.

"I have mummy issues," he explained. "Or in her words, I'm a selfish bastard who never visits and I'm breaking her heart."

Soph snorted. "I bet she says you get it from your son of a bitch father too."

Marco spread his hands wide. "I can't believe that there aren't more divorces in the Italian community. It's like a prerequisite of marriage to hate your spouse."

"Sophia," Nona piped up. "You marry Marco?"

"Nona," Soph groaned, pressing her face into her hands, "that's not how it works!"

Despite her embarrassment at her grandmother's frankness, Soph found conversation with Marco came easily. She found out that, mummy issues aside, he owned a townhouse in Braxton - not the classiest suburb, but it was up there - and worked at a mid-sized marketing company, one that he'd co-financed to get off the ground. He was also a bit of a gym junkie in his downtime and admitted to having a 'fitspo' Instagram account.

Soph enjoyed herself so much that it was past midnight when she finally walked back in the door to her apartment. She kicked off her shoes with a tired sigh and dropped her handbag on one of the leather armchairs. She did all the usual things that she did when she got home; had a hot shower and got into her pyjamas, then scoured the fridge for a late-night snack before settling on opening a bottle of red wine instead.

She took both bottle and glass to the lounge room and dropped onto the couch, kicking her feet up onto the glass coffee table. She sipped the wine and pulled her laptop into her lap. She opened the lid and stared at the website she'd been stalking for two weeks now.

Eli Damiani, CEO of the entertainment industry's shining star SinCorp, has announced the purchase of five new land holdings across City Central and Hamilton Bay and says that SinCorp plans to use at least three holdings to open new nightclubs.

Despite vocal objections from local lobby groups that insist Damiani is creating a culture of 'booze and strippers' in otherwise upper class neighbourhoods, stock prices for SinCorp have soared to over $121.61 per share.

Soph let her eyes drift from the article she'd already read a dozen times to the accompanying picture. Eli Damiani stared back at her, his arms crossed over his chest and a knowing smirk on his lips.

In the two weeks since they'd had drinks together, she'd only seen him a handful of times across the street. He'd never noticed her. She sighed. Maybe she should Google Marco instead.

A loud crash outside in the hallway made her jump, and someone hammered on her door. Lurching to her feet to open it, she was aware in the back of her mind of the fact that her doorman, Harvey, hadn't buzzed her to tell her someone was coming up.

She put her hand on the doorknob and felt her amulet flare hot against her chest. The warning didn't deter her; she pulled the door open.

Eli was there, his dark hair tousled as if he'd been running and his eyes wild with panic. His chest heaved, and he was braced against the door frame, held back by the wards that guarded her apartment.

Beyond him, she could see that the door to the fire exit had almost been ripped from its hinges, and from within she could hear a guttural shriek echoing up the stairwell. It was coming closer.

"Soph," Eli begged, his voice hoarse, "please let me in."